Stay with Me
by Esper Kay
Summary: Nobody needs to keep a bunch of memories that aren't real.  Anybody would want to remember all the people who are really important to them. But he isn't Nobody, and he isn't Anybody.  Semi-AU: Sora chooses to keep his false memories at the end of Re:CoM.
1. Chapter 1

**(A/N: Greetings, mortals. I hope you're in the mood for some angsty, fluffy Sora/Namine, because that's what you're getting. **

**The idea behind this fic came to me after finishing Re:CoM a little over two years ago (...my how time flies), I was completely swept up with the emotions in the final cut scenes for Sora's half of the story. Namine is such a deep character, and all her potential has been completely wasted in later games; you might be a die hard RokuNami or SoKai shipper, but you can't deny that her (platonic or romantic) feelings for Sora were very touching. So, after I died a little bit inside after I saw the scene with her crying and saying that Sora will forget her and thought about how Namine and Sora never actually had that reunion in KHII, ****I decided...what if Sora had chosen differently? What if he had, at the last moment, chosen to stick around with Namine while Donald, Goofy, and Jiminy slept?**

**So. Expect a believeable semi-AU filled with some sweet, sweet love, a healthy dose of angst, the reappearance of some familiar faces, and (hopefully) a happier ending. Now, enough with the lengthy author's note and happy reading!)**

**Disclaimer: **Kingdom Hearts belongs to Disney and Square Enix...but not for long.

* * *

The inevitable question.

After battling Heartless across 13 floors, eliminating two Organization members, facing a replica of a friend, and saving the girl, the heroes call for the return of normalcy. As they deserve to. They didn't choose to have their minds stolen into, their thoughts and dreams shuffled. The conscious is, after all, supposed to be the one place a person should be safe in. The ultimate sanctuary.

The Witch knew it would come to this, somehow. Maybe some small part of herself even dared to hope for it. Even though she knew what victory for the trio would entail, it was the right thing. The _best_ thing. Not what she wanted, but then again, the decision wasn't hers to make. At least she would be free.

Free.

Such a miraculous word, so much perfection wrapped into that one syllable. A new beginning for the child cooped up for so long with only crayons for company. No longer would she shiver under the touch of the Organization, shrink under its glare.

Truly free.

_For a time, at least_, something spiteful whispers_. Until you slip into the body that is not your own, until you are forced to observe the life you can never be a part of…_

But she has time, plenty of it, she reassures herself. Naminé knows how to handle time-to stretch the minutes, fill her days with as much meaning as they can possibly hold. And she knows what she must do in the meantime.

And so here they are, the end of the story. Well, the conclusion of her personal tragedy, at least.

* * *

"Can you put our memories back? Donald asks, the same quiet wistfulness mirrored in the other three pairs of eyes.

"Yes. Not remembering something doesn't really mean it's gone."

Sometimes she really wishes all the things she touched would vanish, leaving a pure white void to be filled by herself. They would be lies, of course, but couldn't lies be pretty? So much easier to swallow, so much nicer to believe. But alas, the terrible power has a regrettable limitation.

"What d'ya mean?" Goofy asks, stupefied.

She tries to explain it as best as she can, not entirely sure herself. The mind is a confusing, albeit clever, creation.

"When you remember one thing, that leads to remembering another-and then another and then another," she says, automatically thinking of the charm and all the trouble it caused. "Our memories are connected. Many pieces are linked together like they're in a chain that makes up each of us."

She can still picture their original "links." The mage and knight's upbringing in a castle, undying loyalty to their king, their meeting with Sora, their adventure through their individual eyes-almost the same but with a few significant differences. Both were simple, uncomplicated lives destined for happy ends. She didn't need any other powers to see that. Most of that was even applicable for the non-combatant of the group, Jiminy. All so untroubled, all so safe.

But Sora-obviously she paused a little bit longer to sample his memories.

To quietly sit back and watch the fleeting childhood so abruptly ended by higher callings. She envied him for his many days of doing nothing but idling away the hours on his small island; was jealous of his early mornings and home-made breakfasts from his mom, afternoon of make-believe play with friends, nights of staying awake to gaze at the night sky. Watching the life she would never have, feeling the heat of a phantom sun, the crash of already-broken waves, empty laughter and black skies.

It had taken her quite a while to muster up the courage to follow the Organization's orders and begin dislodging his chains, but after the initial unshackling the process was easy as it always was. She even felt some sort of perverse pleasure lodge inside of her, as she sat stealing away what she didn't want and claiming him with fabrications that were as sweet as she wanted to be. Gradually the Other faded and she appeared, then flared into his conscious.

The one she should have been. The girl she'll never be.

"I don't actually erase any memories-just take apart the links and rearrange them. You still have all of your memories." Even now she is still unsure of whether this is a good or bad thing.

Oh, what a character flaw.

The cricket speaks next, optimism apparent in his voice. "So you can put them back together?"

The Witch nods, knowing that after she says this there will be no turning back. But there was never much of a choice, anyway, she gently reminds herself.

"Yes, but first I have to gather up the memories scattered across each of your hearts and then reconnect them."

She sees something dawn in the faces, but hesitates to put a name to it. Amazement? Revulsion? Dare she dream to see a bit of pity? It seemed like Organization XIII could never make up its minds about that, either.

Upon hasty reflection, she refrains from tell them about the process's high degree of difficulty-after all, there's no sense in sending them into a troubled sleep. Knowing their sense of chivalry, misplaced as it is, they'd probably refuse to undergo the treatment just to save her the embarrassment of failure.

A part of her would like this…but she stops herself from thinking too long about that. Stop talking like that, she chides, and show that you're a fraction worthy enough to be on the right side this once; prove yourself wrong.

"It might take some time," she begins, failing to leave out her uncertainty, "but I think it might work." Naminé shakes her head, the action alone giving her a tinge more of bravery as she steeples her fingers and continues, "No-it will work. I'm sure. It's my turn to look after you."

She has said the right thing, maybe even the most honest thing she's said in her entire pitiful existence. The Keyblader agrees.

"All right," he says with that smile that her chest finds unsettling. "We all really trust you."

It pains her, this innocence they all possess. She is the one who has done this to them, who has utterly destroyed their memories, and they don't even mind. No shouting, no physical abuse, nothing. Just this blind faith that she really has the power and, furthermore, the will to right her wrongs.

Jiminy is the one who locates the sore spot, the girl employing every ounce of self-control she will ever possibly have to not give away the weakness.

"Oh…wait a second! You said you'd have to undo the links of the memories you made. But that means-"

A whisper of a sigh escapes. "Yes."

Every decision in life requires giving up something else. The lucky few give up the things of no significance, the stuff better left behind. But the majority must weigh both sides of each deal, not the gains each would bring to them alone, but all that would be lost to them as well. It is the only way. It will always be the only way.

"You won't be able to remember anything that happened here."

"Not even you?" The boy grasps it immediately. It's not the castle or the enemies he hesitates to forget-his one concern is her. And she feels a glimmer of something appear, something that she won't put a name to lest it vanish.

"I'm sorry." More than she has ever been. "But it's the only way, I'm afraid."

Contemplation begins to occur and she turns her back, doing anything to keep from seeing his face. She doesn't want to watch as he makes up his mind, the determination setting his mouth into an unpleasant frown. As he says what will surely be the end of her, invisibly slipping away from her weak hold.

But.

She's not giving up just yet.

Call it a defiant streak, call it trying to change fate-she suddenly feels the need to put up a struggle. His departure will mean the only chance for happiness has slipped through her fingers…and she didn't even fight for it. If she says nothing more, then she will forevermore blame herself for the possible opportunity lost. And…well, doesn't she deserve to have a shred of a dream, just this once?

She wants him-maybe even _needs_, she doesn't know for sure. She's ignoring all the questions _why should you?_ and answering them with a flippant _why not?_

She could be enough. She could be more than enough.

She could be real to him.

The Nobody inhales. "Sora, you have a choice." She can almost feel his unsure eyes on her. Eyes that perfectly match the sky she's only seen.

"You can lose your memories of this castle and reclaim your old ones…" _And lose me too._ "Or keep your memories here and give up the memories that you've lose." _And stay with me._

"Do I have to…to choose?"

Naminé closes her eyes, wishing to freeze this moment forever. The only time she was worthy enough to be compared with Kairi. The Witch actually in running with The Princess.

She's done all she can, offered all that could possibly attract him, prayed all the useless words. There is nothing more.

"Yes."

* * *

Sora would say that this was the toughest decision he'd made in as long as he could remember, but given that he could only be sure his newest memories were the only true ones he had, that would only be about five minutes.

It should be an easy answer.

The boy deserves his true memories, not the ones of a fake childhood and this castle. There is nothing appealing about keeping what never should have been yours. If he chooses to retain them, he'll continually wonder what would have happened had he traded them in for what was real. His actual memories are probably happier, or at least getting them would put him a step closer to finding Riku and the one most special to him.

Yet…

If he chooses this, he'll be leaving her. He can picture her face twisting in silent pain, and then swiftly changing into a small smile to erase any second guesses when he gives his answer. Naminé might have done this, but forgetting her would be spitting in her face. If he goes, she will just be the silent girl again, now all alone in this empty place. There will be no chance of someone returning to save her day again.

Why doesn't she get a happy ending? Who has decided that she will forever be lonely, an eternal, unhappy outcast? He doesn't need any memories, true or false, to see that this girl is precious. She deserves more.

And maybe…

His mind and body begin to resist this train of thought. _Are you crazy? You don't even know this girl! You'll be making a horrible mistake!_

But he tells himself to really look at her—past what he's only allowed himself to see, to the girl willing to sacrifice the only friendship she might ever have for the good of others. She isn't being selfish, she's just allowing herself do dream for a moment for offering him this. And…she should.

So he listens not to his mind or his body. He listens to his heart. As it beats out, _You could make her happy…_

The weight immediately lessens. Yes, he could. He could fill her time with as much happiness as he knows. He could make her laugh and smile-he loves her smile, and that's based on actual experience. No more being alone. He could make her important.

He could, he could, he could…

He will.

* * *

"I want to keep these memories."

Her eyes snap open but she's too afraid to face him. Did she really hear him say that? Did he really choose…?

His friends are up in arms.

"Sora, if you do that-!"

"You Can't!"

"What about-?"

They list every possible reason until she's sure he'll change his mind, paining her even more. But he's silent, mute until their tongues still.

"One of us should remember Castle Oblivion, so why not me? Besides, I haven't forgotten the really important stuff-like Riku. He can catch me up when we find him and the king." They can't argue to his optimistic logic, knowing that he is too stubborn to change his mind now.

Donald and Goofy say nothing about keeping their false memories; they want to remember the real places and people that have slipped their minds, like any sane person. She can't blame them. And she knows Sora doesn't, either. It passes unsaid between their eyes.

She takes it upon herself to move them forward. "For me to reconstruct your memories, you'll have to sleep for a while…maybe a year. I'll take you to the room where you'll sleep now."

Only when she makes sure she can hear the echo of their footsteps behind her does she continue. "I made pods for you to sleep in, just in case you three were successful. They allow you to stay in slumber and help me monitor your progress. You'll be able to wake up and think you only took a short nap, remembering everything you've forgotten up to the point you saw the castle."

Naminé risks a glance at the group, noticing the looks of disappointment radiating from Goofy and Jiminy and the glares from Donald directed at Sora, who seems happily oblivious. Something settles in her gut that she can't ignore, pretty sure that it's guilt. She tries to ignore it and opens the door to the room.

All four immediately stop to marvel at the intricate design of the flower-shaped pods. She permits herself a small smile before going to the control panel and pressing the buttons to open each of the three pods.

Donald and Goofy make one last quiet plea with their eyes then walk almost mechanically into their pods, Jiminy now transferred onto the mage's shoulder. As much as they care for Sora, they know they can't make his decisions. Naminé lets the doors on their pods close and hesitates to close the one meant for the Keyblader.

"Sora…are you sure you want this?"

A flash of his grin answers her. "Of course I do."

"What about…" she swallows the lump in her throat. "What about the girl you don't remember?"

He shrugs. "I'll remember her, somehow. But in the meantime, I'm okay." His smile stays this time.

It's such a beautiful sight that she can't help feel tears prick up in her eyes. He's too much for someone like her. And he'll realize that when it's too late.

"Naminé? Wha-" he notices the tears falling but freezes, unsure of how to stop them. She covers her face with her hands, ashamed.

"I'm sorry, Sora. I'm so, so sorry. You don't need to stay here. Don't do it just because you feel bad for me. You need to forget. Forget me and remember her and everything else and-"

"Naminé." His voice is low and firm. "I want to stay with you. And there's nothing you can say or do to change my mind."

She lowers her hands and he grabs one of them playfully. "Now stop crying! I hate it when you do that."

Their fingers entwined somehow give her the courage to face her final doubts and she closes the last pod. Never letting go of his hand. Sealing off all that wanted to take him away from her.

* * *

He is hers, she tells herself. For a year, for more than she ever hoped to have. Hers to laugh with, hers to dream with, to make true memories of them together.

She silences the voice that says _But in only a year he'll be gone, and then you'll see…_

It is enough.

Nobody needs to keep a bunch of memories that aren't real. Anybody would want to remember all of the people who are really important to them.

But he isn't Nobody, and he isn't Anybody.

He is hers. For now.

* * *

**(End A/N: So...I could be mean and put up a big "The End" here, but most of you might be happy to know this is only the first part. As of now, this fic is completed with four more chapters, but I have a feeling that, with some reviews and encouragement, it could easily be expanded to 8-10 chapters. I'm thinking I'll update regularly with a new chapter every Friday afternoon. So. See you guys then with Chapter two!**

**...Oh, also, I would be flattered if you would be kind enough to drop me a little review. Or put the story on watch. Either way I would be a very happy author :D)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Well greetings everyone! Are you surprised I remembered to update? (And if you aren't, I am. Heh.) Here's the second chapter of Stay with Me. It's a bit shorter, but I think it's better quality overall. I guess I should say right now that the rest of the chapters are going to be out of order, and maybe some won't exactly seem to go together...like an AU inside of an AU (inception!). So here, have a really angsty chapter to really kick off your weekend.**

* * *

"Do you know what day it is?" she asks from across the table, momentarily distracting him from his rough sketch. Sora looks back at her blankly.

"Um…day 37?" he replies finally, referring to their way of keeping track of how many days his companions have been sleeping.

She smiles softly at what is obviously a joke, expecting him to say "just kidding!" at any moment. When he instead says nothing but returns the grin with a forced one of his own, she feels a stab of panic.

"You…don't remember?"

"Remember what, Naminé?" he asks, now intrigued enough to put down his pencil and sit up. "Did I…?" Did I forget something else important, he means to say. But never will, because he's too perfect. For her.

The Witch swallows an unexpected lump. Frowns and creases her forehead in concern. "But it's your birthday, Sora.""

Oh." He looks away, trying to remain calm, calculating. She expects him to say something else-anything else-but he only answers with that icy silence that has oh-so-slowly become to creep between them in moments such as these.

"You're fifteen."

"That's right." he says, nodding to himself in confirmation, but whether he is being truthful or not eludes her. He finally shrugs in that heartbreakingly carefree way of his and resumes his picture. Of him and

her (it's always him and her; that's how it should be, right?).

It's just another memory he's lost along the way, she tells herself and returns to her own sketch. Nothing to be worried about. It's just another memory…this just happens to be one of the more important ones.

This isn't the first time this has happened.

* * *

"Naminé?" he asks, much later, giving up his picture in favor of polishing his useless Keyblade.

"Yes, Sora?" she says.

"What did I do on my birthdays?" He doesn't look at her, pretending to be fully concentrated on his work and just making small talk. But she knows him too well. More than she ever should.

"Well, you always had a party. Sometimes at your house, sometimes at the beach, and you'd invite…" she bites her tongue sharply, the names of all those he used to hold so dear swallowed by a dry mouth.

"And there were games, and presents…" Like that one time Riku and Kairi saved their money for a whole six months to get you a bicycle; or when you had a pinata and Tidus made himself sick eating all that candy…but she once again hesitates and chooses to leave out that information. More of the things he has chosen to replace. For her.

"What else?" he asks, seemingly oblivious for her two lengthy pauses, her panic at saying the wrong things.

"And a big cake with candles to blow out after making a wish." she chooses to finish simply.

And happiness. Another whole year of surprises ahead of you. Not one wasted in an empty castle with ghosts for company.

His hand stops wiping at the metal already beginning to rust from no use, his mind too busy processing to do much else. No doubt trying to recall a memory he'll never get back.

Sora's head suddenly snaps up and there is good-natured mischief in his eyes. "We'll have a birthday party of our own, Naminé. With all of what you said."

"But Sora…" she murmurs in protest. But what?

But I don't want to get your hopes up and dash them completely.

He takes no heed, taking her hand in his and pulling them down the hall. The electricity of his touch silences her into submission.

* * *

And they do have a birthday party, eventually. It takes them some time to make the birthday cake (which comes out sideways and much too small) and make presents for one another, but they do.

They sit at the table in fancy clothes not their own, Naminé finding some of Marluxia's and Larxene's tucked away in a forgotten closet that somehow fit them. They won't need them anymore, after all, she tells herself and shakes off the shivers along with the dust on the fabric. She just doesn't tell Sora where she found them; call it magic.

Discarded matches have lit the cake and now it reflects, with the joy, across the boy's face. They have decided to forego a party game (not enough people for Pin the Tail on the Donkey or Musical Chairs) and go straight to making their birthday wishes.

"On the count of three, you blow them out with me," he commands solemnly.

"Are you sure? It's just your birthday."

He sighs and slumps in his chair. "Well, do you know when yours is?"

"No," she admits.

"Well, it's today too. I decided. So you have to blow out the candles now."

She agrees and lets him count excitedly before they both close their eyes and try to extinguish the candles. The Witch can't help but crack open an eye as she ponders what she should wish for (well, technically she's cheating, but who's to stop her?).

What do I wish? She asks and the nasty voice says _Witches don't get any_. But she opens the other eye and he is smiling and suddenly she doesn't care anyway

* * *

What did you wish for?" he whispers, the cake long gone and crumbs on the corners of their smiling mouths. They lay together, fatigued from over-eating, limbs crisscrossed lazily.

She fixes him a stern look that just falls short of authenticity. "I can't tell! It won't come true!"

"Alright, alright," he shrugs in surrender. "But…" he whispers, his mouth now dangerously close to her ear. "I'll tell you my wish if you won't tell anyone."

The blush creeping across her cheeks restricts her to merely nodding.

"Okay…I wished for…strength."

_Strength? You, Sora? The bravest person I will ever know? The boy who is able to take down men twice his size with only a key and an unbreakable heart?_ But her argument is refuted when he swoops in and captures one of her cheeks in an innocent kiss and swiftly draws away.

"I…" she knows she has never been one for words, but why do they fail her now? "I…"

"Let's open our presents now," he says suddenly, turning away and fighting back a blush of his own. And with that, Sora has saved her again.

* * *

_Do you know what I wished for?_ She longs to say (but never does).

_I wish I was her. I wish I had you fair and square…I wish I didn't have to cheat to get you. Maybe I even wish that I had never met you, for you will surely be the death of me._

_And maybe, maybe…I wish I had never been created at all._

But she says nothing. And it is not the first time she has kept something from Sora.

* * *

"Here," he says, his voice modest but his face smug. He is proud of his present, and thus she should be too. They have no wrapping paper, so he has simply folded his present in half.

A picture, of course. There is nothing else he could give, and nothing else she wants more. (That she can hold, that is.) She carefully opens the gift and her breath hitches.

It is, presumably, an earthen wall. A cave. A primitive drawing covers it, two chalk-drawn heads and two stars, one drawn crudely and the other in almost-impressive accuracy. One is Sora, and the other is-

"Wait," Sora suddenly snatches it away. "No, that's not right." He shakes his head. The other head has shorter hair, slightly different face. It's not her. Even with the picture's small size and his skills in art somewhat lacking, he has managed to pick out his mistake.

Naminé, in a sudden violent urge, wants to grab the paper back, rip it until it is smaller than confetti. He shouldn't remember that, she scold herself. That was one of the first things to go.

Why is this coming back? What is happening to her hold on him?

Kairi isn't letting go of him easily, whether she realizes it or not. And this only makes her hate her (or is it herself?) more.

Sora looks at the picture for a moment too long before shaking his head. "Sorry, Naminé," NotKairi. "I'll change it and then you can have it back."

She silently exhales with relief. He hadn't asked any questions (for now).

"It's okay," she says in her sweetest voice, extending her small hand. Lie. What she has become so proficient at as of late.

He offers it to her and she tacks it to the wall. A moment in time forever engraved into the paper, into her memory, into his. She has only to look back at it, whatever the time, and remember this. This being with him, this feeling that constricts her chest, this attempt at bringing him what he's lost. This masquerading as an innocent guest at any normal birthday party.

And maybe, wherever he goes, someday he'll remember the picture too. With something more than regret.

"And now, my turn," she turns to him and makes him sit down. "Close your eyes."

He obeys, impatience making him wiggle, and holds out his hands. _No, silly,_ she almost says, _this isn't a gift of the tangible kind_. A gentle touch to one of his shoulders stills him instantly.

She closes her eyes and concentrates, willing her mind to dig deep. And there…the pictures and sounds rush, a private screening of a movie in her mind, and she transfers it from her recollection to his. So easily.

His eyes shoot open. "I…" Remember. I remember now. It's there. It's so clear.

He thanks her with a touch of lingering shock in his voice, and the gratitude makes up for the small hole in the place the memory once was. But it's fine. She didn't need to remember it anyway.

that the presents are distributed, the impromptu party is over and they pick up the little reminders that say it ever happened at all.

* * *

Did you have fun yesterday?" she asks quietly, Sora hard at work at his next drawn masterpiece. There is no red in it, she notices with something one may call false happiness. Jealousy. The Other won't be in this picture, at least, even if now she is more than a whisper in his memory.

His smile fills a piece of her. Maybe the one she gave up as a present. "Of course. I have fun every day."

She purses her lips, finding this response somewhat odd. "Well, it was your birthday."

His brow furrows. And instantly, she somehow knows that what he says next will be a lie.

"Oh yeah. I remember now," he smiles, face empty of anything but happiness. What she is now just beginning to realize may be less than completely ture.

Maybe she's not the only one changing here.

"It's alright." She offers a smile of her own that she hopes passes for understanding and goes back to her own sketch.

"But you know what's funny, Naminé? I don't remember yesterday…as well as I should," he quickly adds, but she won't look up to acknowledge his slip up. "But I remember everything about my eighth birthday. I had a chocolate cake that year, and we had strawberry ice cream with sprinkles…" he shakes his head, doubtless withholding other insignificant details partly out of sparing her feelings, partly out of amazement. "Isn't that weird?"

Her fingers clinch her crayon and it breaks a little, a jagged crack in the yellow wax. But he doesn't notice. Why should he take note of something so small, so inconsequential-a little girl's dreams breaking while he is caught up in this miracle of rediscovery.

So this is how Fate chooses to play. She looks at him, this boy who she utterly aches for, who she would do anything just to keep. For a little while. What she thought would happen, but guess won't be the case after all.

"Maybe this means my memories will just come back on their own or something."

_Witches don't deserve wishes_, something tells her. Maybe it's herself this time. They don't deserve anything at all. Because this time she knows it's true.

She sighs, as airy and fading as she is. But never lets him see the tears that just might fall. The mirror-world of all that shouldn't happen might be cracking, but we can pretend that we don't care until it finally, truly breaks and leaves us bleeding from the inside out.

"Yeah," she whispers. Whether he hears or not. It doesn't really matter. Not at all. "Something like that."

* * *

**Thank you for the review, _Christopher Scott_, and also thank you very much for putting the story on alerts, other guys. Any more reviews and/or watches would be very much appreciated.**

**Time for me to get back to my Senior Graduation Project. Ugh. Much love and see you next Friday~ **


	3. Chapter 3

**(A/N: Hai guys, I didn't think I'd get this one up in time...and I have no one to blame but myself. But I did manage; it's roughly 11:17 at time of posting. Thanks to new reviewers araus, tennisdesi91, and AnnoCat, and returning reviewer Christopher Scott. Your reviews totally make my day! Well, without further ado, we have chapter three, and I hope you enjoy.)**

* * *

The night covering the castle suddenly has movement within it. Dark beings moving with purpose, bent on one desperate need, slithering to torment again. They rise up on all sides-never ones to knock politely at the door-hovering above her, grave as the Grim Reaper. Just as deadly.

_Come to us, pretty,_ each distinctive voice meshes into one joined whisper, the menacing hiss eliciting shivers up her spine. _We still want you. Did you honestly fool yourself into thinking you'd be rid of us so easily?_

She pulls the covers closer, as if covering her head with them will be enough to drive them away. The if-I-can't-see-you-then-you-can't-see-me logic. Only whimpers escape in the stead of screams, her tongue apparently having chosen to escape without her.

_You're dead, all of you. I saw most of you die, watched you fade. You're not real, _she thinks desperately. But the words stay swallowed in the terror-induced silence, only broken by their humorless chuckles at her lack of response.

_We're here, Naminé. We're always here. You've just been lying to yourself._

Their gloved claws catch her exposed throat, choking out the air, shaking her until she feels her bones rattle. Merely frightening her to make their point.

_You'll never be safe. That boy can't keep saving you…he can only destroy us so many times…_

They pry her eyes open, forcing her to gaze upon their lifeless faces. The Scientist, the Nymph, earth-mover, pyro, schemer. Equally taunting, accusing with their corpse lips and burning holes for eyes.

_You killed us, witch. Now feel our pain._

Fear like none she has ever felt keeps her from responding. _I didn't do it_, she wants to scream. _It's not my fault._

They crowd her view; one face, then another. Ice, lighting crackling on finger tips, ear quakes, fire, howling wind. They overwhelm her, each entity sucking away her essence and she cannot look away.

_Useless_, they all tell her. _You should be the dead one._

The last to speak is the most terrible. Him, the one who has made the last year of her life an unimaginable hell. He needs not introduce himself as the others do; his smell, or rather, his fragrance is enough to spikes her phantom heart rate. The choking perfume of roses and violets and the undertone of death that assaults her nose as he pulls her close. Not roughly, of course. The master of Castle Oblivion never relied on violence when his soft-spoken, subtle type of dominance worked just as well.

He wraps her in a hug, or a semblance of one, his arms crossing her body to keep her own pinned to her sides. For a long while-time does not hold meaning in these moments-he simply presses his face to hers and breathes in and out, failing to lull her into the state of suppressed terror that was once her level of normalcy. His long, careful fingers finally catch a lock of her hair and gently slip it behind her ear, as sweetly as a lover.

_My dear…_he whispers into her ear, his breath hot. He tries again. _My precious little…snake._

A tremble escapes from her and he notices, a chuckle escaping as he still leans in closer. _Haven't you realized?_

She tries to freeze her body, certain that any response would be fatal. If she's lucky, he'll tell her anyway.

But no. His hand flies to her jaw, bruising it with his tight hold. He turns her to face him, the sudden movement causing pain in her neck.

_You were never very good at answering my questions_, he says a bit ruefully.

Something inside her snaps, and she begins to twist and turn her body out of his grasp. Or attempts to, anyway. He only laughs again, a sound that will surely send her over the brink of insanity if she hears it too much more.

_You can't escape_, he says in almost a kindly-concerned voice. _Never_.

The urge to run or scream or…do anything besides sitting here and taking this quietly begins to build inside of her. She thought she was done with these-these _monsters_.

_Oh, Naminé,_ he whispers in the stillness, her mind racing rampant but her body deadly still once again. _Don't tell me you don't know…_

But he doesn't finish as her brain latches onto a single thought and she acts upon it. In her overwhelming fear, she can only come up with one of the simplest ways of escaping. And, due to this terror, this method is surprisingly effective.

She bites him.

His shock that little, complacent Naminé would do such a thing causes him to drop his hold into something less than bone-crushing. Just what she needs, her arms lanky and awkward as she pushes out of his grasp and runs.

Farther and farther away, pushing forward as fatigue and perspiration threaten to slow her down to a literal crawl. But she doesn't care about this physical, self-inflicted pain. As long as there is breath in her non-existent body, she refuses to go back to them. To give up and endure the mental suffering once again.

It is pure blackness that surrounds her, no buildings or beings discernable in the starless night. She can't even be sure she's moving at all in this seeming abyss. But the feeling that it brings-of complete loneliness-is almost comforting, though almost any other emotion would be when compared to being with them again. When she goes far enough into it that she thinks she might be safe, she hears them. Soft, then growing gradually in intensity. From miles away to by her side in a minute.

_Come back to us, they call, come back._

No, no, no! She covers her ears with her hands, shakes her head stubbornly like the child she is. Go away!

But it is useless. They have found her yet again, surrounding her, somehow standing out in the night. The group "tsks" her with their good dark humor, as if she is any wayward child.

"Naminé, you can deny it no longer," Marluxia speaks, stepping forward. This time the message will be heard.

She knows what he wants to say, but refuses to accept it.

"No," the word, so adamant, is no more than a whisper.

Encouraged by this weak last attempt at evasion, the man smiles, close-lipped. "Face it, Witch."

"No. No. NO." She'd rather die than admit it. Because if other people know-if it is known anywhere other than the place she keeps it closely guarded inside-then it is what she feared. It is true. She will die.

"Naminé," he is breathing into her ear again, a habit of his that still chills her to the bone. "You're no better than us, keeping Sora for your own use. In his own little cage, doing exactly whatever you want. Guess you're not as perfect as we thought…"

Her eyes begin to water, each small word another knife stab in her chest. And then he says the most damning thing of all.

"…We're all so proud of you."

To be compared to these murderers, these _thieves_…no words can properly describe the horror and shame that floods her.

"It's not true," she whimpers, the first tear sliding down her cheek. "He chose to stay here. With me. I didn't make him. It was his choice. Alone…"

They all find this to be a great joke, and she backs away, repelled by loathing at them and herself. And the chanting begins.

_Just like us…just like us…just like us…_

She finds herself against a wall, her fate once again in this group's cruel hands. A disheartening thought, and such a numbing realization that she can't even bring herself to shed another tear over it.

A sudden thought seizes her: Sora. He could save her! If only he could hear her…

"Sora," her voice cracks. She moistens her lips, then cries his name as loud as her voice box will allow her to.

"SORA!"

"I hear you."

The Organization has suddenly become mute, perhaps startled by the voice of the Keyblader. But where is he?

There. He pushes his way through the taller black cloaks, standing face to face with the girl. She gives a sob of relief, throwing herself at him, sobbing despite the imminent danger.

"I was so scared, and they told me such horrible things-" she grips his jacket, her face buried into his shirt. "And I thought that they were going to-"

"They're right, Naminé," he says slowly. Coldly.

She jerks back now, noticing his face shows none of its normal gentleness. It is blank, maybe even frozen. His body, stiff, unresponsive to her hesitant touch.

"Sora? What-"

"They're right, Naminé," he repeats mechanically. "You are no better than them. You kept me from sleeping, just to keep me here."

"But you said you didn't want to sleep!" she argues, trying to find any of his normal warmth in his icy eyes.

"You gave me no choice. And now I'm stuck here. With _you_," he spits the last word out, then pushes her roughly away. She stumbles, but manages not to fall, standing stupidly as Sora falls back to stand with the Organization. His face as perfect in hatred and apathy as theirs.

"I hate you," he says softly, then shouts. "I hate you!"

No. This wasn't her fault.

No. She was sorry. She'd take it back.

"Witch!"

No!

* * *

She finds herself screaming, tears flowing freely from her sweating face. Clutching and crying desperately into the closest thing: a shirt…she freezes, too embarrassed to look up and face the owner.

"Shh…Nami, it was only a nightmare," Sora whispers.

Nightmare. A nightmare. Of course. A laugh escapes, meaning to come out as relief but instead sounding like hysteria. The Organization isn't here, she isn't alone…he doesn't hate her.

"Hey." she finally meets his eyes, the boy seemingly unconcerned with his soaked shoulder. "You okay?"

She bites her lip, then nods vigorously. "Yeah. I just thought that they were here…and I was running…and you…" The vivid picture of his face, his declaration of hatred, flashes into her mind.

"I'm sorry, Sora, I'm so sorry…" she leans into him, and his arms wrapping around her quiet her instantly.

"Don't worry," he chuckles in misunderstanding, "it was just a dream. No need to apologize. They happen to everyone."

"Y-yeah…"

As the adrenaline rush comes down, she realizes their close proximity. Heat floods her face and she draws away. "T-thank you. I should be okay now."

"Are you sure?" he leans in closer than she would like.

"I think so."

"I can stay in here if you want me to."

This gives her an unexpected pause. Sora sleeping beside her…No. She blushes at such a thought, but her tongue betrays her. "Well, just to be safe, I guess," she murmurs.

He crawls beside of her and begins the task of untangling the tangled sheets, thrown about by her frantic turning in her sleep. Once that is done, he lays his head down. "I told you I'd keep you safe, Naminé, including in your dreams," he says, and she lies down as well.

But that promise was…

"But dreams aren't that important," she protests weakly, rationalizing her fear by talking it into submission.

"I dunno," the boy shrugs, "I've had some pretty bad nightmares myself."

"You?"

"Well, sure…mostly all the bad Heartless I fought coming back for me. Trust me, it's pretty scary," he reassures.

"Oh."

A silence bordering on the line of being uncomfortable makes her say one last thing.

"Thank you."

He turns his head an offers a grin that is just the slightest bit sleepy. "No problem."

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Sora," she whispers.

The boy stretches out a hand to bridge their small gap, hesitating before finally touching the side of her neck lightly.

"I don't think I'd be the same without you, either."

She wants to blame this open honesty on fatigue, on anything but…she can't even say the word to herself.

He finally draws away with a lingering glance and then turns to face the wall, the place his hand was still warm and tingling on her bare skin.

Night seems to descend again, but this time as a blanket rather than a gag. It takes her some time to begin to feel even the slightest bit drowsy; she wants to blame it on the fear of having another nightmare (and not the intoxicating knowledge that he is only inches from her, the warm of his body heat on oh-so-slightly out of her range).

She is just beginning to be certain that he is asleep when he whispers her name. She thinks of replying, but for some reason feigns sleep. Somehow, this doesn't matter, and he continues to talk to his silent, assumed-slumbering audience. Sometimes words just need to be said, if weighed heavily enough upon one's mind.

"Naminé, you talk in your sleep." Her eyes widen, terrified at what he could have possibly heard and, much worse, what he thinks about what he heard. "And…"

She hears him moving about and shuts her eyes tightly, holding her breath. She feels the bed move, then the brush of his body and finally his face as he leans over to confess in her ear.

"I don't want you to worry anymore. I alone chose this."

_Heknowheknowsheknows_ goes the mantra in her mind, the racing syllables in time to her rushing heart. Somehow he has pieced the puzzle of her broken hopes together-Sora, of all people. Is she really not as good at concealing her pain as she thought she was?

"And I haven't regretted being here-being with you-for even a moment," he says softly, and the place where her heart should be swells. Never has she heard such a confession, never will she hear one like it again, she is sure.

"I don't care what has happened, but I'd go through it all again just to stay with you. I…I mean it," he finishes with a suspicious pause, as if he had almost said something different.

He bends lower and brushes her cheek in the softest of kisses, the sweetest promise of all that is to come. And just by doing that, she feels her part of villain reverse. She almost knows how all those princesses and fair damsels felt as their handsome prince kissed them awake. It is a temptation to open her eyes and end the charade, but somehow she feels the moment's tenderness will be ruined if she does. Let him declare himself quietly; let her feel it by herself and not end it with awkwardness.

Almost with embarrassment, he moves away and this time falls asleep quickly. She might have thought her neck tingled from his fingertips, but it is nothing when compared to the warmth flowing from her cheek now. He thrills her in such a way that she doubts no two young persons have ever felt the same-she, who is not even supposed to feel at all.

A white conscience-one wiped clean to finally match her person-keeps her spirits high. He has said everything (with the exception of one small phrase) that she has so long waited but only dreamt she would hear. He holds no blame against her, no regret. Only the happiness that only Sora is able to possess that makes the world reverse in rotation and the ground become the lightest of clouds.

There is no turning back from this night. Never again will the ghosts of her pas hold sway over her. Now that he is there, now that she has no doubt. She is safe with him here, every part of her.

And only then does she allow herself the secret guilty pleasure of burrowing closer to him, her lips inches from his neck in her own whispered kiss. One day the remaining space will be breached, she knows with a rush of wondered certainty, but now it is more than enough. More than she can possibly imagine. Than she ever thought-knew-was possible.

And that night the rest of her sleep is peacefully dreamless.

* * *

**Thanks for reading, and please please PLEASE keep those sweet reviews coming! See you next Friday with the next installment!**


	4. Chapter 4

**(A/N: Sorry for the slight delay, you guys. There were some issues at home-me and my parents aren't on good terms and I spend most of my time in my room and away from the computer. But that's neither here nor there, because in a few months I'll be in college and out of their life forever, yay!**

**Sorry about that. A writer's life should never intefere in a story, so you won't be hearing anything more about THAT. Here's the next chapter. And it's a pretty angsty one, too, with a special guest appearance or two.)**

* * *

Banished to the back of her mind with all the other thoughts of things she's putting off until later is the fact that she-_they_-will have to face Him sometime. She knew He was in the castle, valiantly battling below and steadily gaining ground, yet she barely let her thoughts stray to Him. She'd even met Him once, briefly, appearing as her Other and telling Him to embrace the darkness in His heart. But He is a trivial detail compared to the everyday bliss of being with Sora; there is so much to do and see and be with this boy she admires so and the other boy is merely a skeleton in the closet she would get around to opening sometime.

The first indication of Him drawing near is the appearance of DiZ, an imposing figure that she suspects has more to hide than just his face. It is like de ja vu to stand awkwardly before an unfriendly figure, to flounder for excuses and struggle to determine if their intentions were noble. This time she was questioned intensely about Sora-why he was still here, why his memory was corrupted. It had not been a long interrogation but uncomfortable nonetheless, with DiZ promising he would keep a vigilant eye on the two of them and a parting warning to be on the lookout for him.

Only days later he walks into the room, and Naminé isn't sure who is the most surprised among the three of them.

Riku.

Riku, the oldest of the little trio from Destiny Islands, strikingly handsome with silver hair and mint eyes to accentuate his subtly-changing body. The competitive, adventurous explorer who would be more than content to live the rest of his days outdoors. A bit misguided, maybe a bit rebellious, but a good friend deep down. Loyal, of course, to both ends of the worlds. He has an air of sadness about him, maybe from the childhood that is ending too soon, maybe the inner pain he feels for selling his soul for a little dark power. This boy has suffered the most, perhaps unfairly, but still takes it quietly, a mark of a true martyr. A strange balance, this sinner slowly drawing back to the light.

The two boys regard each other with the utmost of caution, each waiting for the other's move-_is this another trick?_ they think, remembering the Replica and Cloaked Schemer individually. Will this be another disappointment, and, if so, how many more times can they withstand this sort of pain? But maybe, _maybe_…

She doesn't dare move, holding her breath with mixed feelings, but realizes it is pointless. She, like everything else around them, is now invisible. She might as well be part of the wall. Sora breaks first, as she knew he would, ever the curious optimist.

"Riku?"

The older boy blinks. Breathes-she is not the only one that was afraid to exhale, then. His mouth finally twitches in the corners, a smile that likely hasn't crossed his face in many weeks. Naminé allows herself the small luxury of being momentarily relieved.

Ten minutes pass without either one acknowledging her-not that she minds; Sora's radiant smile could placate her for hours. The boys hug with a little discomfort, then relent to just grab each other's arms and compare battle scars, figuratively and literally. Both look so content together-so _natural_-that she feels perfectly at ease being the third wheel until she flinches at the implications.

"Naminé." His voice chases away dark thoughts like the sun as she turns to face his grin and Riku's appraisal. The introduction is uncomfortable-or perhaps it is only her that feels it, the first signs of guilt curling up in her chest-and she cannot meet his cool gaze more than once or twice. She can almost feel the older boy's smile thin little by little into a thin line of distaste, noticing Sora's longing glances and praises directed at her and his obvious avoidance of mentioning another.

But he doesn't interrupt, keeping his thoughts silent until the end. His question is for Sora, but the accusation in his tone is only for her.

"What about her?"

"Her?" Both of the boys' eyebrows narrow, one in confusion, one in rising anger.

"The one who is most special to you," Naminé breaks in quickly, soft enough that she hopes Riku won't catch on.

"But Naminé," Sora says, his voice matching hers in softness and with maybe a hint of hurt in it, "I thought you would have realized by now that _you're _the one most special to me."

The blush that threatens from this unexpected declaration is dispelled as the silveret steps between them, leaning in to practically hiss at Sora, "What did you say?"

"Riku, it's…complicated," Sora mutters, running his hands through his hair.

The older boy crosses his arms, eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm listening."

This reunion is suddenly not quite as pleasant as they all had hoped it would be. She leaves without excusing herself, unable to excuse herself as she closes the door quietly behind her and sits uncomfortable against the nearest wall. It's not her place to get in the middle of these two impossible forces, so different but so desperate for each other.

It's not her place to be with them at all, she tells herself.

* * *

Sora's voice, being the higher of the two, is easier to hear and she can just barely if she presses her ear to the wall. Riku's is harder because in addition to being in a lower octave it seems that he is also half-trying to keep her from eavesdropping on their heated exchange. She cannot do anything but lay there, catching snatches of sentences, curing herself for her inability to either stand up for Sora or prove Riku right.

_Why do you stay?_ she hears. _What makes her so special? _he says, all her inner demons spewing out of the silver-haired boy's mouth. It is hard to keep silent, to keep her eyes dry, and she settles on biting her knuckles to bear the pain.

_I didn't want to forget this…I didn't want to forget her. She needs, me Riku. And I need her too. Just try to understand-_

They hedge around the Kairi topic for quite a while, it finally hit as an apparent last resort for the argument going nowhere but in circles.

"What about the other promise you made? How are you taking care of _her_ if you're worlds away with another girl? You've got her charm; does it still mean anything to you?"

"Of course it does. And she does, too…but some things have changed, Riku," Sora says uneasily.

There is a long, uncomfortable stretch of silence and Naminé feels as if all the air in the castle has been sucked out, closing her throat.

"If she's still special to you," the older boy says flatly, "why have you not called her by her name once?"

"I…" the long syllable echoes through the corridors. The pale girl rests her forehead against the wall, her stomach suddenly queasy. "I've forgotten it.

"While I was battling in the castle, the Organization took most of my memories and kind of…twisted them to try and control me. So I've forgotten about a lot of things, including her-I mean, I know there's a girl waiting for me at home on the islands and she gave me this charm, but that's about it. So the less I think about her right now, the better."

Silence.

Then the explosion.

"You _WHAT?_ You practically have amnesia and _you're okay with it?_ You're _trying to forget about her?_ The girl you were crazy for, the girl you lost your heart to save? You're just going to throw her away…_for a girl that isn't supposed to exist?"_

He has a valid point, and she knows he only says it because he cares, because he's frustrated…but she still flinches. Maybe this is what will finally change Sora's mind-

"If you care so much, you take her." It is the coldest thing she has ever heard the younger keyblader say. "You protect her. You promise her something. I just can't anymore."

The door is pushed open so forcefully it swings wide enough to hit the wall adjoining it, assuredly leaving a bruise-like mark as it collides and then retreats. Riku breezes past, hatred and fury rolling off him in waves. He sees her cowering on the floor, obvious having heard most of the altercation, and stops her only long enough to stab her with a brusque "thanks."

_Thanks_, Naminé. Thanks for continually causing Sora misery. For tearing two best friends apart. For separating true love by time and distance.

Meek determination takes her back to face the brunet. She doesn't know what to say-_don't listen to him_? _Yes, Sora, he's exactly right? _But she pauses before parting her lips to speak, watching the boy that was overjoyed an hour ago now sitting alone and struggling with his conflicting desires. His pain draws her literally to him, knowledge rising in her as she extends a hand: whatever he wants next, she will give to him. Her own happiness is one thing, but his is far more precious to her. She will let go of a happy Sora before she will hold on to an empty one, no matter what the circumstances.

She expects angry tears for her benefit, even steels herself to the possibility of him physically pushing her away. But when she uncurls her fingers and offers her palm, he grabs it almost roughly, using the momentum to press her body to his. She should feel something-excitement, embarrassment, but only concern appears. Sora turns his face and places it against her shoulder, a gesture giving her despair in the stead of hope.

"He's wrong," he mutters. But she isn't sure if he says that to comfort her or reassure himself. There's nothing she can say, so she settles on wrapping her arms around his shaking shoulders and holding onto him as long as she can.

* * *

What Riku goes through in the next few days could very well be compared to the medically recognized Cycle of Grief. Even though no one is dying and it is usually only experienced by the one faced with the harsh unexpected reality of death, he virtually goes through the same steps-for, after all, isn't deep loss all alike? He hasn't had to bury Sora, but he will soon have to say goodbye to him again, will have to forever lose the parts that were affected by his unchained memory.

Due to his internal strengths and external limitations, he goes through the cycle all in less than a week, though it could very well take a normal person months to do the same. Riku is very physically unable to run away from this problem and, like the warrior he is, has no choice but to face this monster.

In the beginning there is denial, the mind-numbing fog that says _this can't be true_. After the first violent confrontation, Riku wanders off for a time before finally coming back, noticeably calmer. He doesn't waste away too long in it, not a disillusioned boy by any means. Then it is straight back to anger-at her, at Sora, at himself. It is almost an illogical reaction, now that it is almost too late to change anything, but the unfathomable odium is there, directed at this injustice. Thankfully this doesn't last long either, but it hangs around enough to cause the boys to clash with words and maybe even fists once or twice. And when he's not yelling, he's pacing furiously on one of the halls on the floor directly below, muttering to himself.

Next comes the bargaining-attempting to cheat fate, in a sense. The silveret approaches Sora (who holds nothing against Riku because it's in his nature and this is his best friend and he'd probably be doing the same thing if their roles were reversed) and offers anything he can-and some things he can't really-give. It is a true test of endurance for the boys and one of patience for Naminé, she biding her time in the next room with a monster named Anxiety. Though it seems that at any time the younger boy will give in, Sora eventually wears his friend down into truly understanding that he is going to stay at the castle and no, he doesn't want his true memories back.

The sadness is by far the hardest to watch from a distance. Riku retreats again, no doubt quietly mourning the parts of his best friend that he's losing. The demons attack on this one, clawing at what should be the memory witch's conscience. But she, for reasons she'll never know, manages to push her feelings away and concentrate wholly on Sora.

Since he's hugged her, she's noticed, he has become slightly less reluctant to touch her. Anything from holding her arm, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear, one time even taking her hand in his for no special reason. Of course it thrills her, bright red streaking across her cheeks, but she can't help but let her thoughts linger on wondering what his sudden motivation is. It could be that he's reassuring himself-that she's just as much of what he wants as the girl back home. Or maybe she's putting too much thought into this and she is setting herself up for needless heartache.

He seems content, maybe just a little melancholy now that he is being haunted by a silver-haired ghost. But the girl can tell that knowing Riku's okay, even if he's not on the best terms with him, has brought a small sense of peace to Sora; it is a small prayer answered and _something _has finally worked out. She tries not to let either one of them dwell on this, trying to once again fill his days with stories and smiles and shy hands reaching for one another.

* * *

The girl is more than a little surprised and wary when Riku comes to her in the midst of the last stage, acceptance; he knows he can only say goodbye now. Up until this point he hasn't talked to her during the cycle-if anything he had pointedly avoided her-and dealt with Sora exclusively or himself. But even as he's tried to put distance between them, she has heard almost everything that has left his mouth, from yelled accusations to his soft whimpers when he thinks he's all alone.

It is early morning and Sora is sleeping as they sit side by side, doing nothing but listening to one another breathe and wonder what the other is thinking for a long while. She wouldn't dare break his silence-she has no idea what to say to him; everything that comes to mind would in all probability push him away. Even as he inhales deeply and begins to talk she is reticent to speak, to come between him and the words he needs to get off his chest.

"I can't really be mad at you," he begins, studying the floor, "I guess I'm just…confused." He sighs at his inarticulation and she realizes that she, of all people, is making him uncomfortable. It is a small magic that astounds her-the one who had always been the clumsy side of a two-way conversation.

"Sora means…a lot to me. And I'd like to think that I know him well, but _this_-" he gestures vaguely around him, "-isn't like him at all. Maybe he's changed more than I thought…." He breaks off, his eyes glazing over in contemplation. He finally shakes his head and resumes.

"But that's not my point. When I left Sora and told him to take care of _Kairi_-" his voice catches on the name but he rushes to finish the thought, "-I did it because I was sure I was protecting him. And making him happy."

He sighs again but now looks at her, freezing her with eyes full of something she cannot name. Could it be desperation, tiredness at always fighting for things that are always _just _out of his grasp? "I just want Sora to be happy, and if he is now-with you, with most of his memories gone-I guess…I can deal with it." He looks away, running his hand through his hair. "I mean, I don't like it…but I can deal," he repeats softly, almost to himself.

She looks down to fiddle with her hands. "I just want him to be happy, too," she whispers.

"I know."

"I didn't want to change his memories…And I gave him the choice. And he chose this."

"I know. He told me."

"I think he's happy here…" she finishes very softly, not daring to provoke him. Riku is of noble character, yes, but everyone has limits-and he could hurt her very, very badly at best if she went past them.

"He seems…content to be with you. And if I took him away from this now he might forgive me eventually, but I'd always feel guilty. So…he'll stay here and I'll leave later this morning with DiZ."

She is surprised, but finds his thread of logic. If Riku stayed, still in touch with his past, it would be too much to play along with Sora and her, to patiently explain things that had "slipped" his friend's mind, to ignore what is so obviously wrong in his unaltered world. To believe the lies and go along with his best friend as less than he originally was and pretend that Kairi was just a dim, passing thought.

"Someone has to fight the darkness while Sora and his friends are here. I'll see if I can come in from time to time to check on things, but I think I'll do it when the two of you are…occupied," he says delicately.

He was buying them time. He still thought little of her and disapproved of her past but was still going to give her and Sora one less thing to be concerned about.

"You are a good friend, Riku," she says quietly. "Not many could do what you are doing."

He turns his face to an angle so that she cannot see it. "No, I'm not," he mutters darkly. "I betrayed him when he needed me most. I owe him. I still owe him."

"He forgives you."

"Because he doesn't understand," he growls, agitation in his voice. She notices as his hands clench in fists of frustration, but she can't stop talking.

"You should hear him talk about you. You haven't done wrong in his eyes."

"I can't believe I'm arguing about this with a-" he turns, ready to cut her fresh with a sharp insult, but for some reason stops. He looks at her for a long minute and then turns back to looking at the floor.

It takes her a moment to convince herself when she realizes that Riku is _crying_. In front of _her_. His body trembles slightly and she watches as one tear slips down his pained face. She scrambles for an apology. She had expected everything but _this_.

"I'm sorry, Riku, I didn't mean to-"

"You…remind me of her," he says almost gently, an edge to his voice attributed to his emotional state. "It's not just your smell…it's your eyes and your voice and...everything," he shakes his head. "I just don't understand," he says brokenly, hands coming up to cradle his head.

It hits her then. She might only have memories from Sora's point of view, but it's so obvious. The teasing, the long looks, the competition…even going so far as to reach out to the darkness. What has reduced him from the strong, cocky boy to this overwrought young man crying on a castle floor in the middle of oblivion in less than a year.

"You loved Kairi too."

He stiffens and she knows she has hit the mark. Riku had gambled for her Other's love and lost and the stakes had been higher than just a simple broken heart. No, he had lost his mind, body, and soul and would forever be haunted by the monster he had become, a monster that could never have Kairi. Sora, who had pursued her through other-purer-means, had won.

And now he was throwing her away. Throwing Kairi away for Naminé. A luxury Riku would do anything for.

"Loved?" The laugh that comes out has no humor in it. "There is no past tense. There will never be a past tense. How can he just say '_you _protect her' when he has no idea what that does to me…" he breaks off, unable to continue.

Just like this, she has opened up the enigma that is Riku, no paper or colored pencils necessary. And, in doing so, she feels more guilty than she ever thought possible. She knew the consequences as far as Sora was concerned, but she had no idea that the repercussions would extend this far.

"I'm sorry." It is no consolation, she knows, but she can't just sit here and say _nothing_.

And like that, the mask snaps back into place. A quick wipe to his eyes, and the boy stands up suddenly, detached and apathetic once again. "It's not important."

"I-"

"I've stayed too long," he says dismissively, taking the first step away.

"I could help you," she blurts out. It's not exactly what he wants, but…"With the darkness in you. If you slept…I could keep Ansem from coming back. You could forget what happened and be free of him. Seal away the darkness." She had planned on offering it to him differently, with more elaboration, less frenzy in her voice, but such is life.

He turns to her and shakes his head with a rueful semblance of a smile. "Maybe if things were different," he reasons, Sora now the top priority again and his sufferings covered up and smoothed over. She would almost believe he was okay…if it wasn't for that look bordering on the edges of his eyes.

"Riku…I won't tell. I promise," she says lowly.

Promises-how many have passed between her and the two boys? How many have been broken, how many have been kept in the dark, where they belong?

He must catch the irony as well, for his shield is down again, just for the briefest of moments, and he gives the most heartbreaking of smiles. "Thank you, Naminé."

And with that, he walks away, thus ending the first and only conversation she will ever have with him.

* * *

It is only a short time later when the two boys stand together to say goodbye, now with DiZ and Naminé on either side waiting patiently to take them back to their two separate worlds. There is a blinked-away tear or two, a long hug, and broken smiles as they tell each other unlikely promises and half-hearted jokes.

"See you soon, Riku."

"I'll miss you, Sora."

"Be good."

"Don't do anything stupid."

They finally separate, Riku turning to leave when Sora tosses him something. The tiny five-pointed charm fits easily in his palm and he closes his long fingers over it, eyes closing in pain only the girl can identify.

"Protect her…protect Kairi," Sora order with slight difficulty. The silveret looks like he wants to say something but stops himself. Opens his eyes and nods.

This time he turns and keeps walking and the other boy does the same. Sora gently takes the witch's hand in his and squeezes it, then walks back further into the white corridor.

She will give him today to be sad-to miss Riku, to block out the memories of Kairi that are slowly entering his mind, to once again think about what he has chosen. She will give him one day, and then she will wake up tomorrow and make him smile.

Now she understands a little bit more, how lucky she is. How much like Riku she is, too.

Because, just like him, she just wants Sora to be happy.

* * *

**Thanks to reviewers Broken Juggernaut, SlashLover93, Karin Ochibi-chan, Christopher Scott, HopeReincarnated (I love that name, btw), and Annocat, and all the story favorites and watches. They definitely inspire me to write better and update faster. And I promise there won't be a delay last time; sorry for that again, folks.**

**Also, I'd just like to add that KaiRiku is another favorite pairing of mine that's underloved. Which you can kind of tell, if you check out one or two of my other stories.**

**So, see you next week, when I have to actually write a full chapter. I wrote the first four chapters and another chapter (which I'm saving for the end chapter) almost two years ago, but now I've actually got to come up with some new material. I think we'll be seeing a fairytale theme.**

**See you next Friday, and please keep those reviews coming!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Oh wow. Sorry, you guys for the late update again. I didn't have the chance to update Friday, yesterday was prom, and I've been kind of dead all day today. But I really think this chapter is worth it.**

* * *

Sora is a creature of the light; he is its warrior, its protector, because it needs him as a hero just as much as he needs it to rescue him.

It calls to him, quietly at first, sweet whispers growing in volume until they shout relentlessly in his ear. The days pass and he finds himself needing to go out of the castle - though it appears clean and bright, it is no more than a picturesque prison. He needs the sun, the air, the sky that is his namesake as much as he needs food or water. The faint memories of an island stir in his mind, or maybe his heart, and he is wishing for waves and sunsets and grainy sand between his toes.

Leaving has never crossed his mind. Sure, the Organization members had come here-hadn't he even walked through the doors sometime long ago?-and Riku had left with DiZ a few weeks before, but it seems like some strange skill he has no hope of acquiring. This castle is so unpredictable and treacherous and he could very likely be lost somewhere deep within it and never escape.

But that ache propels him to begin searching for anything that could lead him outside - a forgotten door, even a window, never too far from the floor on which he and Naminé keep their good company. But it is all pristine pallid walls; no openings, no cracks. Only doors just leading to more stairs to nowhere. Each day passing makes him a bit more restless, his tan islander's skin fading into a fairer tone, his heart growing a bit darker.

He asks for her help finally. Maybe he should have sooner, but a strange burst of intuition he would not have had a year ago has told him she'd get the wrong idea. It is hard to put his thoughts into words - he wants to stay but he very physically needs to go. How can he properly explain his obsession with light and good and day and the outdoors and that he needs a substitute for such before it drives him mad for the lack of it without hurting her already fragile feelings?

She blinks slowly and he can tell-having gradually picked up on her habits and emotions and other flickers of opinions-that she knew something had been troubling him, but she hadn't been expecting this. And fear leaks into her blue eyes that had been so placid moments before, but she agrees to help him.

They go out the next morning, half-hearted smiles pasted on to cover their worries. She is upset but he does not know why and cannot ask or hurt her more. He jokingly makes a game out of it, failing to keep their minds off of their true intentions: they are explorers, bravely setting out for their own secret world. She takes her sketchbook and he takes her hand, and they navigate down stairs and across hallways and through doors.

The levels all run together until they reach the largest set of double doors, Sora instantly recognizing them as the last barrier to freedom and his heart picks up in anticipation. He drops her hands, ever the gentleman opening doors for his lady. They are heavy and for a frightening moment he worries he will be faced with a cruel irony if they refuse to open, but after they give the first inch he finds the strength to swing them completely outward.

He is stopped in his tracks at the scene before him - it had been night when he had first seen the castle, and approaching winter, but now it is one of summer's last days and a lazy afternoon so commonly associated with the time. The connecting road curves ahead to destinations unknown, surrounded by tall grasses and trees dotted helter-skelter to provide shade from the midday heat. A bird calls from a distance and a fluttering speck of color he assumes is a butterfly alights on one of the wild purple buds mixed in with the drying grass.

He laughs to himself then, and runs the first steps to freedom. The sun strikes his skin and a breeze blows his hair back and he closes his eyes. This is how it is supposed to be, something deep inside him whispers, and he lingers in the light and throws his arms up as if to touch the sky.

She hangs back, waiting in the cool familiarity of white and shadows. This is what she had feared, she tells herself. Now that is free what holds him to her now? He may very well decide to leave this very moment, tired of this dungeon and this girl shackling his spirit. She cannot hold him back from the light; after all, he _is_ the light, and she can't keep him from what he needs, much less ever hope of holding him back with her false brightness. They told her she was good (and sweet and pure) but even she must look away as he stands there, free. How can she deny him the sun or the air when it brings such a look of peace upon his face? From where she is, Sora glows.

He slowly cracks open an eye and turns, fixing her with a crooked grin. She offers him one that's a bit broken, and he goes to her, stopping just at the edge of the ribbon of in and out separating them. Stretches out a hand, a soft smile bringing out the patient understanding and conflicting sadness counterbalanced in his eyes.

"Join me?" he asks, and she bites at her top lip. Slowly holds up her corresponding hand to consider it. Have her hands always been so translucent, so frail?

"I've never been outside," she states softly, eyes tracing lines in the ground.

"What?" Mild shock replaces hesitation. "Not even once?" She shakes her head, not meeting his eyes. She doesn't remember her birth, the rest of her recalled time locked in one castle before being portalled to be captive in another.

He raises his hand higher and steps just one footfall closer, tiptoeing between the two regions. His voice is still gentle as he reaches out to her, insistent. "Please?"

Trust and something like optimism and _maybe he'll stay a little longer this way_ moves her hand. It crosses the distance to his, softly laying palm-to-palm, and he twines their fingers together firmly before pulling her closer to him. His azure eyes never leave hers as he goes slowly, foot behind foot backwards and she follows. She focuses only on him, the point on which her small world revolves, so transfixed in his gaze that she doesn't realize how far they've come until he relaxes and points and she turns to find they've traveled yards.

Panic seizes her chest, and she is riding a bike down a hill for the first time without training wheels, swimming into open water without a float and the shoreline looks so, so far away. And oh, what a coward she is; the prison may be that-a prison-but she is safe in there. Predictable - a reflection of her, the façade of purity. She is two steps closer to returning to her safe haven when she realizes his hand is still there and he is not letting go.

"Naminé," he says, hold tightening a fraction. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. You're safe with me."

And what he means is: _I'm here, I'm here, I'm staying._

She gives a short laugh that he echoes - in relief, at her childish reasoning, because of course this is a good thing.

They settle in the grass, itchy on her uncovered legs, dress settling like one of the clouds above them as they lay back under a tree and look up to find pictures in the sky. Pointing at faces and places and shapes as she feels her body warm and a rare smile appear. And they watch as the sun slowly makes its daily journey and their hands stay tangled together for a very, very long time.

The next day and the next and the very next pass as one long one, each with them rising with the sun and staying outside until it is below the horizon line. Sora runs or climbs trees before falling to nap or check Naminé's progress, the girl drawing new subjects with little-used colors or occasionally getting up to twirl among the flowers, giggling with new-found pleasure as her dress flares up and her hair flies free.

And so the last days of summer pass and Sora's skin becomes darker and his eyes become less prone to wander into the distance. The girl's fears of losing him prematurely are put away and just as she begins the miss the passing season, another one appears.

Fall.

Naminé's reds and oranges and yellows are soon exhausted as she tirelessly sketches the trees brimming with bright leaves, Sora collecting them as they fall to jump in their piles. He sighs in relief at getting to enjoy this time for once and not having to go back to school, sharing years of horror stories full of evil teachers and impossible homework and class bullies with her. He tries to explain to her some sport associated with this season that he has picked up on over the course of his travels - there is a strangely-shaped ball and tackling and punting and it's so confusing that she decides to just watch and cheer him on as he fights imaginary opponents (that he always defeats, of course).

The wind blows a little more often, a little colder too, and the days grow shorter and she says goodbye to the birds as they fly away in their perfect formations. Her cheeks color from the chill against her skin and something else as he pulls her close and they fall on the dead earth, laughing at everything and nothing or maybe at how far they've come.

And the days pass, the trees left bare and black and the leaves shamefully fallen until one day everything is white, white, white. He is as excited as she is-perhaps even more so-new to the phenomenon of snow, having been confined to an island for so long. They bundle up into layers of whatever clothes they can find-scarves and hats and gloves in mismatching colors-and fill up the too-short days with fierce snowball fights and lopsided snowmen. They race to be the first to mark up the ground after each fresh snowfall (and sometimes Sora lets her win) and come back in finally, laying exhausted before a cheery fireplace they have found. She tries her hand at a snow angel, arms and legs moving up and down as if in flight, and Sora pulls her back up and whispers _you're my angel, Nami_ and presses a chaste kiss to her cheek and it's suddenly much warmer outside.

The nights are cold and Sora permanently sleeps in her bed-but he is still a gentleman and that is all he does-and they curl together for body heat and the slowly-growing realization that two full season are past and there are only two to go.

She wakes one morning and the snow has melted, leaving the first traces of flowers and shoots of grass peeking up from the ground. They shed their clothes, animals coming out of hibernation to live again. The birds have returned, as are other animals - small wonders she is entranced by; she watches the agile branch-climbing squirrels in amazement, collects ladybugs on her fingertips, and goes out one dawn and stands so still that she is lucky enough to watch a young deer pass through their field. Sora can reach branches easier now with a good four inches added to his frame, laughing in a deeper voice as he gently pushes her up so they can sit in a tree and watch the day pass together. They dance to the sound of crickets as the days lengthen again, her green pencils becoming small as she tries to copy the season's abundance of its color. He talks of other springs, but his voice holds no regret and his eyes hold only love as he slips a dandelion into Naminé's golden hair.

Summer returns bittersweetly and they fill as much time as they possibly can in its embrace - playing in the rain, even sometimes camping under the summer sky. He shares stories of past summer vacations full of staying up late and no rules, a boyish spark in his eyes once again, and she silently swears to herself that she will make sure this summer will be the one he remembers the best. He teaches her how to swim, they pretending from the obvious lack of water, and they make popsicles from frozen juice to enjoy on the especially scorching days. They pick flowers to tear off their petals-_he loves me, he loves me, he loves me_-and catch every sort of bug in their improvised nets. She even abandons her sketchpad, leaving it in the dirt so she can stretch her legs and her imagination at his side (she can always go back to it; it will always be there).

They talk of what has been and what will come; they laugh and cry and express every shade of feeling in between, even if one can supposedly not do that at all; they wish and hope and dream and make new promises under the falling stars. And Sora kisses Naminé under these stars, tasting of honeysuckle and lemon and summer-spring-winter-fall.

And summer ages and weakens and can't be saved, dying as he leaves, their one year up. She watches from the window as he waves goodbye and goes down the road to battle, leaves tumbling in farewell gestures to him and his comrades.

Time passes and the seasons revolve again, but she still always finds herself feeling the chill and barren winter, admittedly her least favorite of the seasons. She no longer looks-much less goes-outside, settling to look at her pictures drawn by pencils long lost or broken or whittled down to nothing.

But the light is calling to her, faintly now, but it will soon shout like once before and will not be ignored. Because the light can never be forgotten, appearing in the deepest darkness, the deepest depression and solitude.

And then she will go out into the sun and air and meet the sky to share the rest of her seasons with him.

* * *

**I originally titled this chapter 'Out There,' so every time I see it I burst out into that song from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. I regret nothing.**

**Thanks to HopeReincarnated, Christopher Scott, AnnoCat, and Kiryn for the reviews and for all the extra adds and favorites. Please keep them coming!**

**Also, this story is not finished. I believe we are about half way through. Possibly. And I'll try to keep updating consistently, but as you can see with my track record on the last two chapters, stuff happens. But I'll keep trying, because I love this story too much to neglect it. :)**


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